Assassin's Creed Drabbles
by TheCupcakeAlchemist
Summary: It's hard being an Assassin. Especially when those pesky guards are always around. Image by Sister-of-Charity
1. Rocks

My fingers were slippery. _Gloves,_ I thought. _God dammit I need gloves._ They perched on the window sill of the building, clinging there for dear life. My leather-soled shoes were desperately trying to get a grip on the side of the old church so I could haul myself upwards. A steady stream of curses continued under my breath, as the metallic footsteps of soldiers advanced. Civilians shouted and screaming, pointing at me as if I was the first person they'd ever seen climbing Roman structures.

My teeth were gritted as I reached for a better grip. My heart beat pounded in my ears as the summer heat of Italy took its toll. I wondered how the hell my predecessors were able to survive in such conditions, especially with the thick cloak and heavy armor.

"Hey!" A guard shouted, pointing his crossbow at me. I gave him a side-long glance, following the simple order that commanded me to keep my mouth shut. "Get down from there!"

I pretended to ignore him, hoping that he wouldn't shoot. I climbed right past him. At one point, I was so close I heard him breathe. He smelled of alcohol.

"Assassin!" He yelled, alerting even more guards.

_So much for stealth, _I thought. _How much of this damn clock tower do I have left to climb?_I refused to look up. I'd grown to learn that the best technique for climbing was to keep your eyes in front of you, so the sun wouldn't blind you with deadly rays.

Something hit my back. It was hard, and it hurt. _A rock,_ I growled. _Who gave the guards god damn rocks?_ A flurry of rocks pelted against my back. They rattled my armor and bruised my skin. It was terrifyingly difficult to concentrate on moving upwards in all the commotion. I had a habit of stressing out over those types of things. I suppose that's why Uncle always found it difficult to teach me. I was so unlike him. I wasn't a quick-thinker, like he was. I was calculating, always using strategy. I wasn't warm and friendly. I was sarcastic, a smart-ass who coated all her words in a thick layer of curse words.

I was the black sheep of the family, really.

Amidst all this thinking, some idiotic asshole managed to land a particularly sharp rock on the top of my head. I gasped, flinching for just a second.

"Shit." I managed to say, before plunging down, to the very bottom of the clock tower, where I would undoubtedly have to start again, from the very beginning.


	2. Desynchronized Part 1

Escorting allies of the Guild out of Rome was one of the most excruciatingly boring tasks. It wasn't really a mission, more of a chore. Don't ask me how carting an over-weight, middle-aged man through the city was supposed to make me an Assassin. Uncle said it would help me with my people skills. Apparently calling a thief a "rotting shit-face" isn't the appropriate reaction when they accidently step on your foot during a retrieval mission.

So much for "everything is permitted."

I groaned, tapping my foot impatiently as the banker associate waddled through the streets. He was sweating like a pig in the Italian heat. It took everything within me to keep from gagging. "Hurry it up," I hissed. We were far behind schedule. Ezio had given me a time limit to get the banker to the Hideout. At this pace, we wouldn't get there until dusk.

"You need manners," the banker said gruffly. I smelt alcohol and tobacco on his breath. "The great Ezio never treated friends of the Guild with such rudeness."

"Yeah," I said. "But the great Ezio probably didn't have to deal with fat, smelly lards like you." The man narrowed his eyes at me, but kept toddling along, at his snail's pace. I led the way, walking slowly so that I wouldn't lose him.

"Hey you!" A voice called. "Stop!"

I froze.

"Stay here," I whispered, holding the man back. He nodded, looking frightened.

I crept forward, looking for the guard that had called me. I saw crowds of people surrounding him. _Great_, I thought. _This might get messy._ I flicked open my hidden blade. It stood concealed between my fingers. The metal was cold and smooth. The guard, who obviously hadn't spotted me yet, turned his back, to scan the crowd. In that instant, he was gone, my hidden blade shoved in his back.

I heard people scream. Other guards rushed towards me, baring their swords and hammers. They were novices, easy to dodge and kill. While one charged forward, swinging their heavy blade, I was already on the next, smoothly slitting their throat cleanly. Blood stained my hands. I grimaced. I looked around, eyeing the soldiers at my feet. It was that oddly silent moment, where the civilians weren't sure whether they should scream, pray, or run.

"Argh! Help!" The banker screamed. He was feebly battling four guards with a thin dagger. He barely deflected a blow from one of the guards. It was pitiful. And that's coming from me.

"Of course," I growled, walking over. My hidden blade clicked into my fingers again. The first guard nearly took my arm off, but with a jab to the chest he was down. The second was more nimble, and it took kicking him in the gut to gain an advantage. I normally don't like playing this dirty, but due to certain previous events, I was not in a good mood. More than anything, I wanted to get this guy back to the Hideout, so I could practice my free-running. I used both hidden blades to kill the third and fourth guards. They fell to the ground, lifeless. I shook blood from the blades before letting them slide back into their sleeves.

"Well that was a close one," the banker said, emerging from his fetal position.

I simply shook my head, not gracing him with a response. Suddenly, my foot caught a rock in the road. I gasped, falling forward.

"Wh—" the banker started, as I fell towards him. I put my hand out, to catch myself. I heard the familiar click of my hidden blade. I had a distinct feeling I knew what was going to happen, but it was too late to stop it.

"Well, shit." I said, watching the banker writhe on the ground. He gurgled, blood dribbling down his lips. A merlot stain spread across his chest. "Uncle is not going to be happy."


End file.
